Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Scabior\'s Strumpets	By : edenskye Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1993 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or it's characters. I make no money from writing this. It's just for fun.

Chapter List
- 1-Scabior's Strumpets
- 1
This isn’t going to work, Harry—you love your job more than me!</i>

Harry sat in his leather recliner, Ginny’s final words to him when she had broken off their engagement, running through his head. So what if he worked until nearly eleven every night? He was a new recruit and he had repeatedly told his supervisor not to show him any special treatment. It wasn’t like he was out cavorting with the local tart and then coming home to Ginny, exhausted. Maybe it had been that he had collapsed into bed on many a night, without having showered, comatose before his head had hit the pillow, that had had his fiancée reconsidering her position in his life. Or had it been the fact that, when he didn’t have an overwhelming workload—which was rare in and of itself—he didn’t respond to her as enthusiastically as he had when they had just dated. It wasn’t that he didn’t love her; it was just... well, he didn’t know what it was.

That was probably why he always asked to be given the more menial tasks Aurors had to complete: paperwork—parchment after parchment of descriptions and statements. Every Auror was responsible for their own depositions, but there was always a backlog of paperwork to be filed, copied, or even revised in their office. When he couldn’t put his finger on why he thought the smell of parchment was preferable to the smell of Ginny Weasley, he immediately asked for more, hoping the issue would resolve itself. It didn’t. They argued often and fiercely. Harry’s voicing his concern as to why she couldn't see that he was working hard to support her and their future family, and her responding, ‘What family? You’re never home to make one!’ finally came to a head one night. Though he missed her the moment she had walked out the door, he let out a sigh of relief. It was the first time in his entire life that he truly felt free from any obligations, other than his job.

Harry closed his eyes and drifted off to a nice peaceful sleep, where he dreamed of getting his first field assignment.

<center>****</center>

The next morning, Harry trudged through the Ministry and finally on to the Auror Headquarters on Level Two, a protesting crick in his neck from having slept in the recliner. He blindly sought the tea station, hoping they would have something stronger than Earl Grey. At the first sip, he frowned. Cinnamon. Dumping the remaining liquid from his cup into the nearby sink, he opted for coffee instead. One of these days, he would bring in a proper box of tea bags, like PG Tips. Three cups of that, and Harry would be awake until midnight.

Sitting at his messy desk, cluttered with case files, he casually perused the headlines in the Daily Prophet, and unbeknownst to him missing the official document perched on the highest pile of paperwork. Having read about the next faux Dark Lord in the making—Harry had seen at least two since the fall of Voldemort, three years earlier—the next article made him sit up and take notice.

Another blow to the Malfoy family! Since the untimely and—dare we say it, readers?—most welcomed deaths of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy last year, the once prestigious family’s fortune has dwindled to practically nothing! Sources close to the family solicitor suggest that their wastrel and scoundrel of a son, Draco Malfoy, is to blame; his idea of managing an estate seems to range between making terrible investments and partying at all hours of the night. We at the Prophet think that, unless Mister Malfoy gets his act together and flies straight, we may just see him in a new place of residence: Azkaban Prison. Details to follow.

“Typical Malfoy,” Harry muttered and flung the newspaper in the garbage pail. “Everything handed to him on a silver platter, and he squanders it.”

It wasn’t like he hated Malfoy anymore, not after the Dark Lord had been vanquished. But the man had been a royal prat most, if not all, of the time Harry had known him. The latest article just proved him right.

“Robards wants you in his office in fifteen minutes,” Alastor Gumboil barked, sticking his head around Harry’s cubicle.

Harry frowned. “Why?”

“Bloody hell, if I know why,” Gumboil snarled. He reminded Harry of a toned-down version of Mad-Eye Moody. “Could have something to do with that there paper.” He pointed to a leaning pile.

“Which one?”

“I’m not going to hold your hand, Potter; you figure it out!” The crotchety bastard meandered off, presumably to grouse at someone else.

With a sigh, Harry started sifting through paperwork, trying to locate the parchment Gumboil had vaguely pointed to. After ten minutes, he finally laid his hand on said document. It had the Head Auror official stamp on it, which only meant one thing for Harry: his first field assignment.

“Yes!” His excitement was short-lived, once he’d unfolded the heavy velum.

Auror Potter,

Since you have completed your three-year training requirement, you are hereby assigned your first mission in the field. For some time now, we have been monitoring a business that deals in prostitution and felony larceny. Your mission is to go undercover in a sting operation, to put an end to said business. Since this is an undercover assignment, you will need to procure at least a week’s supply of male Muggle hair, as we don’t want to risk detection using hair from the Wizarding populous. Polyjuice potion will be provided for you. Again, we stress that the hair must be Muggle and male, as the clientele of said establishment is homosexual. Once you have assessed your assignment, please report to the Head Auror’s office for further instructions where you will be given the location of your safehouse and additional information regarding the escort service.

Gawain Robards

Head Auror

Harry re-read the missive several times to make sure he hadn’t misunderstood. By gods! It was official; Robards had gone mental. Why, in the name of Merlin, would they put him in the middle of the seedy gay underworld? There were plenty of other Aurors who were familiar with the gay Wizarding world, so why choose him? He couldn’t possibly expect to succeed in his task!

Panicking, he ran to the men’s toilette and stared at himself in the mirror. Did he give off some sort of gay vibe that he was unaware of? He turned his head this way and that, looking over the angles of his jaw and the flip of his messy hair. He even turned sideways to look at his arse. Did it look shaggable to other blokes?

One of the stall doors opened, and a thin gentleman Harry had never met before exited and stood at the sink to wash his hands. He gave Harry the once over, smiled lasciviously, and dried his hands. Then, he took Harry’s hand, spelled a number on Harry’s palm with his wand, and closed his fingers.

“Call me sometime, handsome,” the stranger said with a wink and left.

Mouth agape, Harry stared at the Floo-call number written on his hand. “Oh, Merlin,” he whimpered. “Maybe my arse is shaggable.”

<center>****</center>

Harry sat in Head Auror Robards office listening to the details of his mission, his right knee bouncing.

“Nervous, Potter?” Robards eyed Harry’s leg with a tick in his jaw.

Harry smiled thinly. “You could say that.”

Robards gave him a smug look. “I’m sure you’re wondering as to why I gave you this job, instead of to someone more suited to the lifestyle.”

Did he have to sound so condescending? “The thought did cross my mind a time or two.”

Leaning back in his chair, Robards laced his fingers behind his head. “There are several reasons, actually. First and foremost, all of our experienced Aurors are on more important, complicated assignments. I can’t pull them for an undercover job.” He then leaned forward. “Second, you didn’t want any special treatment. Well, here you go—welcome to the big leagues, son.”

Harry wanted to scowl at his supervisor. He had defeated Voldemort when he was only seventeen and he had never had a childhood, so to speak. He had been an adult most of his life, whether he’d wanted to or not. Robards telling him he was a grown-up now and had to behave as one was patronising in the extreme.

“Third,” the Head Auror continued, “is that you have connections to the Muggle world, unlike most of us. Should make it easy to get the hair, which is extremely important. All of Wizarding society is known to this group, especially you,” he informed Harry, pointing at him. “Do not screw this up, Potter. We’ve had Scabior’s Strumpets under surveillance for over a year now, and this is our one chance.”

“Scabior’s Strumpets?” Harry cringed. Not Scabior... anyone but the vile Snatcher. “Wasn’t he the—”

“You know another lackey of Voldemort who likes to wear eye-liner?”

“Uh, no.” Harry scratched his chin. “Does he really wear eye-liner?”

Robards stuffed several items into an accordion-type folder and handed it to Harry. “Focus, Potter!” He wrote quickly on a piece of parchment. “Here. This is the location of the flat we have set up for you in Knockturn Alley. It’s close to Scabior’s place.”

Harry scanned the address and grimaced. “This flat is right above Contagion Candles. Isn’t that a bit dangerous?”

“Not if you don’t use their wax on your escort,” Robards said with a snort. “I’m sure you don’t want to explain to Scabior why one of his precious Strumpets has bits of flesh eaten away because you decided to get kinky.”

“I don’t do stuff like that, sir,” Harry gritted out.

“You sure? Have you ever poured wax on someone’s skin?”

A gape was all Harry could muster.

“Yeah, well... don’t be too quick to judge then, son. You might like it.” Robards stood and crossed his arms. “You have one week to complete your mission. If you fail or are compromised in any way, I toss you right back to training new recruits. Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” Harry growled.

<center>****</center>

Harry stood on the edge of the grassy field, inconspicuously watching his cousin, Dudley, play footie. Every once in a while, when Dudley’s body refused to follow his feet, Harry would cast an undetectable charm to help him score a goal, or punt the ball further than his stocky legs would’ve allowed. His cousin had come a long way from when he used to torment Harry daily. Now, they occasionally saw each other for dinner, though Dudley never ventured near the Wizarding world, which was just as well. Harry thought it might overload what little circuitry the boy had left.

Dinner was not on the agenda tonight, however. Harry was specifically looking for Muggle hair, and lots of it, though he still felt uncomfortable about the assignment. Could one really fake being interested in the same sex? Only time would tell, but he was determined to finish the mission as best as he could, regardless of his feelings on the matter. It was, after all, his first true assignment, and he didn’t want it to be his last.

He slipped into the shadows as the game ended, watching the players file past him into the locker room to shower. He scanned each man, seeking one that wouldn’t be too onerous to be transformed into for a week. A nice looking redhead that reminded him of Ron walked by, but before he could read the name on the jersey, he was nearly trampled on by none other than Piers Polkiss, his cousin’s best friend and fellow bully.

The rat-faced man turned to see what he had tripped over, obviously saw nothing, and continued on his way. A mischievous grin broke out on Harry’s face. He remembered all those ‘Harry Hunts’, and how enraged Piers became whenever someone questioned his masculinity. Polkiss would be perfect.

It was nearly two hours before the locker room emptied of everyone inside. Harry quickly examined the rows of red lockers, the players names at the top of each door, stopping once he arrived at the one clearly marked, ‘Polkiss.’ Harry murmured, “Alohomora,” and the metal door popped open easily.

He riffled through the smelly clothes, until he found what he was looking for: a brush, full of stringy black hair. “Libero Saeta,” he murmured. The hair untangled itself from the bristles and floated into Harry’s hand. He closed his fist around the matted mess and stuffed it in his jeans pocket.

As he left the locker room, Harry smirked, revelling in the fact that this would be payback for all those years of being teased and tormented.

<center>****</center>

“This place is shite,” Harry muttered, glancing at the flat he had been given.

Dust and dirt an inch thick covered nearly everything, including the windows. The only thing that looked remotely used was the bed, and Harry really didn’t want to know why. How could anyone live in this hovel? Oh, wait... they didn’t. That was the point.

Wand raised, he cast Scourgify over every surface he could see and Tergeo on the ones he couldn’t. After the fourth round of Scouring Charms, he realised that the flat wouldn’t get any cleaner.

He spied a rickety bureau and placed the bag containing his belongs on top, holding it there when the piece of furniture began to sway. “This assignment can’t be over soon enough,” he groused and starting filling the drawers with clothes.

He removed a paper sack from within his coat pocket, pulled out the hair, and grimaced. On closer inspection, the ends were split, and the strands had a distinct greasy feel to them. Harry wished he could just continue with the Glamour Charm he had used to procure the room, but the charm was only meant for short-term use, and he had a habit of losing focus in the heat of the moment.

Dear Merlin! The heat of the moment. The idea was enough to send him off the deep end.

Swallowing heavily, he plucked six strands from the pile of hair and dropped them in the silver flask he had been given by Robards. The potion frothed and bubbled over the lip of the spout, though it didn’t overflow, not that it mattered. The stench was eye-watering, and if he remembered the taste from second year, he was not looking forward to taking even one sip.

“Bottoms up,” he said to the empty room and gulped one mouthful. It was all he could stand.

Trying not to retch, Harry waited until the potion wrought its magic, his body rippling and transforming into someone taller, thinner... and uglier. He waited just long enough to get used to Piers' body, dressed in the clothing he had bought, then headed off to Scabior's to get started.

<center>****</center>

The moment Harry saw the hole-in-the-wall establishment, an uneasy feeling crawled up his spine. Said feeling was confirmed when he entered and could hear a man’s voice yelling from the back of what could loosely be called a shop.

“You’d better earn your keep, pretty boy, or I’m gonna toss you back onto the streets!” There was a loud slam, possibly of a door, and then a scruffy, lanky man parted a set of beaded curtains to appear. “This isn’t the local mission,” the man muttered under his breath. He stopped the moment he spied Harry.

Scabior was just as Harry remembered him: dishevelled, with grungy and mismatched clothes, wild hair held back with a tie of some sort, and thick eye-liner around his eyes. Robards was right. The former Snatcher had not changed one bit from the last time Harry had seen him, when he, Ron and Hermione had been delivered to Malfoy Manor.

“So,” Scabior drawled, walking closer to Harry and looking him up and down. “What brings you to my place, hmm?” He leaned forward and inhaled. “Mmmh, powerful.”

Harry tried not to cringe in disgust when Scabior caressed his face with his bony fingers. Think of the assignment! It took all his might not to pull out his wand and hex the lascivious smirk off the Snatcher’s face.

“Well, it's my birthday, and I really don't want to be alone so I thought I would hire some entertainment,” Harry said, using the cover Robards had given him.

This man was not the head of the Snatchers for nothing. He studied Harry, his eyes narrowed. “Who are you? I’ve not seen you before.”

“Piers Polkiss, from Surrey. Wanted a bit of excitement, so I came to London.”

“Makes sense, I suppose.” Scabior gave him another once-over. “You’re not much to look at, but the power radiates from you like a Muggle explosion. You a relative of Snape’s?”

Merlin, but the man made his skin crawl. “Never hear of the bloke,” Harry lied. “Look, I was told that you have the best talent around, and I’ve got the Galleons to spend, so what do you say we cut the natter and get down to business?” Harry didn’t want to stay in Scabior’s presence any longer than he had to. The sooner he completed his mission, the sooner he could go home.

“Oh, forceful,” Scabior purred and laid his hand on Harry’s chest. “I like that.” He winked and pulled back. “Unfortunately, all of my lads are playing, save one.” The Snatcher produced a photo and handed it to Harry. “This is the only one left, though I understand if you don’t want him. Actually, nobody wants him. He is a Malfoy, after all.”

Harry gripped the picture tightly. Staring back at him was none other than Draco Malfoy... naked. There had been a few occasions on which Harry had had to interact with Draco, but the events had dwindled to nothing and he had not seen Malfoy for over a year—not since Lucius and Narcissa’s deaths. Now, looking at his old nemesis, he felt a tinge of pity creep inside his chest.

Draco was posed wantonly, exposing his ‘assets’ to their fullest, a haunted look in his eyes. Damn, he had not counted on Draco being embroiled in the sordid business. He was going to have to change his strategy. “He will do quite nicely,” Harry finally said, hoping he knew what he was doing.

“You sure?” Scabior questioned, clearly disconcerted. “I could let you have him for half price. He does have this tendency to squeal like a nancy boy.”

Shaking his head, Harry said, “No, I like the look of him. But I want him to wear something specific.” Harry retrieved a satchel he had brought with him, pulled out several items, and handed them to Scabior. “Think these will fit?”

Looking over the clothing, Scabior raised his brows. “Kinky bugger, aren’t you?” He held up one of the items. “I’ll make sure it fits.”

Harry had wanted to die of humiliation when Robards had given him the outfit his escort was to wear, but at this point, he just wanted to leave and take a shower to wash the filth from his body. “Here’s the address. He’s to come dressed in the costume with a robe covering him. Is that understood?”

Scabior licked his lips. “Yes, sir.” When Harry deposited three times the agreed upon price in the Snatcher’s hand, Scabior’s eyes widened. “Definitely, sir... right away.” He backed away and walked quickly through the beaded curtain.

Just as Harry opened the door to leave, he heard Scabior shouting again. “Malfoy, you prissy sod! You have a job! Get your arse down here.”

Biting his lip to keep from saying anything, Harry left and closed the door behind him. Zeus’ bollocks, he hoped he was doing the right thing.

<center>****</center>

Draco cringed at the shrill voice of the former Snatcher. Wrapping the flimsy dressing gown around his too-thin body, he opened the door and looked down the staircase at the ranting man. “What kind of job?” It wasn’t like he knew these sorts of things. He was desperate, and desperate wizards did desperate things.

The papers had it right that the Malfoy money had all but disappeared, but the reason for its loss was not what the public at large thought. What the Ministry hadn’t taken outright in reparation, his father’s oily solicitor had siphoned from the vaults right under Lucius’ nose. The Malfoys had been practically paupers before Draco’s mother and father had even passed away. But a rich brat being less than frugal with the family wealth made better headlines, at least according to Rita Skeeter.

On the verge of having to sell what family heirlooms he’d still possessed, Draco had searched for any way to make money. And it wasn’t the kind of money one needed for lavish parties or anything of the sort. This was money needed to actually survive on. The Manor had been destroyed when the Dark Lord abandoned it just before he perished. The town home in London, the château in France, and the house Draco had spent most of his holidays in as a child in Italy were seized and given to victims of the war. Draco literally had no place to live. Zabini had allowed him to stay at an unused flat briefly, but his former classmate stressed that it was only a temporary solution.

And that was how he had ended up selling his body for Scabior. Well, he planned to sell his body. Problem was, no one seemed to want him because of his name, not that he minded terribly. Having his arse ripped to shreds, while he was supposed to be enjoying the paying customer’s attentions, was not the highlight of his life. He had hoped his luck would hold out, that he would get a soft man that wouldn’t wish to abuse him unnecessarily... but from the sound of Scabior counting Galleons, it looked like his luck had finally run out.

“The kind of job that pays tripled what you’re worth,” Scabior growled. “Now, get down here and get your kit.” He held up a pile of items.

Draco made his way down the stairs, took the mound of clothing, and retreated back upstairs to don the costume. After closing the door to his room, he dumped the items on the small bed. He selected something black and let it dangle in front of him: a black velvet corset. “Bloody hell,” he muttered and tossed it to the side. Next came thigh-high fishnet stockings, also black. “Merlin!” His fingers itched from just holding them. He picked up the shoes—needle-sharp high heeled bitch boots that looked like they came all the way to his knees. “Damn!” The items kept getting more outrageous. Finally, he came to the underwear: a black thong that would definitely leave nothing to the imagination. “Christ! Who is this fucking pervert?”

Sliding the dressing gown off, he sat down and tugged on one of the stockings. “It’s official. My arse, my beautiful, unblemished arse is going to be raped.” He pulled on the other one. “Or killed. Yes, killed, then raped.” A moue of disgust was etched on his face while he slipped on the thong, the material between his cheeks irritating him to no end. It also cupped his bollocks in a most uncomfortable way. “Oh, sweet Merlin, this is tight.” He worked his large feet into the boots, grimacing when his toes became pinched. “Maybe raped then killed.” Trying to stand in the awkward shoes, Draco teetered to the left before he caught the bedrail to steady himself. “I can’t even walk!”

“Malfoy! You should have left by now!”

Draco snarled and grabbed the corset, trying not to fall in the process. “They won’t have to worry about paying me my portion; I’ll be dead via randy first client or impaled during a bizarre boot heel accident.”

“Less blathering, more dressing!”

“Fuckwit,” Draco muttered and looked the corset over, trying to figure out how to put it on. Apparently it took longer than he thought as Scabior slammed open the door, incensed.

Stifling a snort, the Snatcher taunted, “What’s the matter, Malfoy? Don’t know how to play tie up?”

Draco had to remind himself to control his anger. He needed this. “Considering I’ve never worn a corset.” Though he didn’t want to, he handed the item to Scabior. “Show me.”

Striding forward, Scabior grabbed the corset and pushed Draco around. “Eyelets in front, laces in back. Think you can remember that?” He cinched up the garment so tight Draco could hardly breathe.

“Got it,” Draco panted, seeing spots before his eyes. He swayed and lurched forward.

“Search him thoroughly, Malfoy. I don’t need to tell you what will happen if you don’t come back with the dosh.”

Draco couldn’t speak—his stomach was in his throat due to the constriction—but he nodded hastily and put on his robe. He walked carefully around Scabior, out of the room and down the stairs, holding on to anything to keep from falling. Once he was out the front door, he looked at the address Scabior had given him.

He trudged through the cobblestone streets, sinking his heels into the crevices at least twice. It was a miracle he didn’t land flat on his arse. When he reached the building, he frowned.

“Scabior is barmy. There’s no way this wizard is wealthy.” The building had a business front on the bottom, which looked older than Borgin and Burkes, and the flats above were little more than decrepit cells.

Bile rising in his throat, Draco entered at the side and made his way up the rickety steps, hoping none was rotted through and would break with his weight. Having reached the landing, he found the number he was looking for and knocked.

When the door opened to reveal a man that resembled an even uglier version of what Snape must have looked like as a young man, Draco stomach nearly rebelled. He honestly didn’t know how he was going to get through the evening.

<center>****</center>

“Come in, Draco. I've been waiting for you.” Harry had already taken another sip of the Polyjuice just before Draco arrived. He still felt oddly exposed and uncomfortable. It was surreal to look at his hands and realise that while they didn’t look like his, he could still control their movement. He had also activated a Recordus Charm, to duplicate everything that was said that evening and send it immediately back to headquarters.

Draco hesitantly stepped inside the flat, frowning. “How do you know my name? I’m sure you didn’t go to Hogwarts.”

“Homeschooled,” Harry lied smoothly. “And the Malfoy name is known in every Wizarding community.” He hoped Draco bought that flimsy explanation.

A distinct look of intrigue was etched on Draco’s face. “Is that so?” he drawled. He moved nearer to Harry, leaned close, and licked his lips nervously. “So, you want to boast that you shagged a Malfoy, is that it?”

Harry snorted. “Hardly. I live in a Muggle area. Whom would I tell? They wouldn’t know about you, and it’s not like I can explain.” He shrugged. “You were a nice looking bloke in the picture.” He looked Draco up and down. “Why don’t you take off that robe and let me see how really nice you look.”

“You're not what I expected,” Draco said as he slowly pulled the lapels of the robe apart. “I thought you would be some ancient poof out for some kind of revenge against my family.” He let the robe fall to the floor and stepped away. “It’s good to know I was wrong.”

Harry sat on the bed and leaned back to watch Draco awkwardly strut around the room. Poor sod, he was probably doing everything he could to stay upright in those ridiculous shoes. “Sorry to disappoint you. Do you mind that I’m young?”

“Do you mind that I’m a Malfoy?”

“No. It’s irrelevant.”

“Then I don’t mind that you’re probably my age. As long as you have the Galleons, I’m yours.”

Harry tried not to stare at Draco’s calves, but the way the blond was walking, flexing his muscles, made Harry’s trousers a bit tight. He blinked. That should not be happening! He was straight, right? Mopping his face, Harry sat up a little. “Oh, I have the Galleons.” He caught Draco’s interested gleam when he mentioned money. Right, time for business. “It’s my birthday today.”

Draco studied him. “Is it?” A mischievous grin curled his lips. “Am I to be your present?”

Harry rose from the bed and made his way over to a bedside table, where he had several bottles of Butterbeer. “You are. Let’s drink to my health.” He had already laced the one he gave to Draco with Veritaserum. The other was laced with Felix Felicis because he needed all the good luck he could possibly have for the rest of the night.

After finding the only chair in the flat, Draco seated himself and sipped leisurely, watching Harry constantly. The moment the liquid hit Harry’s tongue, a feeling of complete ease washed over him. He knew the potion was working when the certainty of that night’s outcome would change both his life and Draco’s.

Harry sat on the edge of the mattress in front of Draco to make sure the other drunk the whole bottle. When they were both three-quarters done, the blond put his drink to the side and tugged his chair forward.

“Now,” Draco purred, running his hands up Harry’s thighs, “what exactly do you want?”

The dark-haired wizard felt his breathing hitch in his chest. Was Felix Felicis supposed to make him feel randy? He couldn’t remember, but his gut instinct said to go with it. “Dance for me,” Harry murmured, though he never wanted Draco’s hands to stop their progress up his legs.

Draco arched a brow and leaned back, his arse almost off the seat of the chair. Slowly, he brought his right foot up and insinuated it in between Harry’s legs, the edge of the heel pressing against the bulge in Harry’s trousers. “If you want me to dance, take these off, lover.” He let the toe of his shoe outline Harry’s obvious erection, caressing it while carefully pushing harder.

Holy fuck! Harry had never felt so turned on in his life, not even with Ginny, which was saying something about the sad state of their relationship. The more Draco toed Harry’s shaft with his foot, the harder Harry became. How could this happen? He wasn’t supposed to be gay! He would need to check that batch of Felix Felicis for any added ingredients, when he got back to headquarters.

Doing as Draco asked, he wrapped his fingers around the blond wizard’s slim ankle and stilled his movements. Not as self-conscious as he’d expected to be, he reached up and pulled the zip down slowly, trying not to snag the stockings on the metal. When he came to the bottom, he slid the shoe off Draco’s foot and, without really thinking, started rubbing the instep, feeling the cramped muscles.

“Mmmh, so good,” Draco cooed, his voice low and relaxed. Withdrawing his right foot, he brought the left to Harry’s lap. “Next.”

Harry repeated his actions, feeling the need to say something more. “I want to play a game while you dance.”

Draco’s eyes widened, his brows going into his hairline. “What sort of game?”

“I take it you’ve heard of Truth or Dare?” At Draco’s nod, Harry went on. “I’ll even let you go first.”

It was clear Draco was uncomfortable with the turn of events, but Harry was achingly hard and he wanted the encounter to be over with so he could have a wank... or several. Draco rose and went to stand behind the chair, his legs spread.

“Truth or dare, then.”

“Truth.”

Bending over slowly, Draco gave Harry a provocative view of his arse, the material of the thong separating the pert cheeks. “What is your name, lover?”

Harry swallowed thickly, his eyes never wavering from Draco’s arse. “Piers,” he muttered. “Piers Polkiss.”

Draco rose long enough to throw one leg over the chair and sat again, his thighs spread wide. The same thong left little to the imagination as it defined the prominent swell of his lengthy shaft. “Interesting. Truth.”

It took every bit of willpower Harry possessed to keep from palming his erection for relief. “Why have you had to resort to this type of work? I thought your family was wealthy.” Merciful Merlin, but Draco could gyrate his hips!

“You don’t keep up with the Wizarding world, do you?” He straddled Harry’s lap, his back to Harry’s front, grinding his arse into Harry’s cock. “Terrible investments, greedy solicitors, being on the losing side in the war—you name it. That’s where the money, and practically everything that defined the Malfoy name, went.”

Harry moaned and grasped Draco’s waist. Gods, the man felt delicious rubbing against him. “You have nothing?” he panted.

Draco halted his movement and looked over his shoulder at Harry. “Nothing.” He suddenly stood and turned to face Harry. “Truth or dare.”

“Dare,” Harry rasped. He wanted to say truth, but the Felix made him ask for a dare. How bad could it be, really?

This time when Draco straddled his lap, he was facing Harry. “Kiss me.”

There was a brief moment of rebellion in Harry’s mind, but it was quickly shoved aside the moment Draco placed his lips on his. It was so different from kissing Ginny, but also better. Harry found he loved the hard angles and slight raspy feel of Draco’s stubble. At that point, however, Harry was so aroused that every movement of Draco’s hips caused Harry to thrust up to meet him. He locked his fingers behind Draco’s neck and plundered the sweet mouth, tasting the Butterbeer. His tongue traced the strong, even teeth, pulling back only when he needed to breathe.

“I think you liked that, Piers,” Draco drawled, the deep register of his voice going straight to Harry’s already aching cock. Draco swiped Harry’s bottom lip with this thumb then slipped the digit into Harry’s mouth. “Suck it.”

A token protest flitted through Harry’s mind before he curled his tongue around Draco’s thumbs and hollowed his cheeks. So lost was Harry in the taste of Draco that he almost forgot about the mission. Almost. He couldn’t remember the time limit on Polyjuice potion, but calculated he didn’t have much time left before he would need another dose. Releasing Draco’s thumb, he asked, “Truth or dare?”

Draco laved Harry’s neck, nibbling on the skin just beneath his ear. “Truth,” he murmured against the wet skin.

It was so very hard to concentrate on forming a thought. “Your employer doesn’t seem the type of bloke to run a brothel. What does he really do?”

The blond wizard pulled back a little to look in Harry’s eyes. “He isn’t the type. He was a Snatcher during the war.” A frown of confusion and hesitation flitted across Draco’s face, and he opened and closed his mouth several times before saying, “His men seduce their clients. Then, before anything really happens, they Stupefy them, nick their valuables, and use a Mind Altering Charm before leaving.”

Harry knew the Veritaserum was running its course, so he acted quickly. “The shop he’s located in is small and sparsely furnished. What does he do with the valuables if he doesn’t use them for upkeep?”

Draco was becoming agitated at this point and he slipped from Harry’s lap. “I overheard that he has a special vault in Gringotts. If there are Galleons, he keeps them there. If there are other items, he waits until enough time has passed and sells them to collectors, private buyers, or on the black market.” He crossed his arms over his exposed chest. “Who are you?”

Shite. There was just too much suspicion on Draco’s part for Harry to continue, but Felix prompted him to ask further questions. “Do you know which vault number?” Harry knew if he at least had the vault number he could subpoena Gringotts to have it opened.

“Five one nine eight,” Draco spluttered then clapped his hand over his mouth, eyes narrowed. “What the hell did you do to me?”

Harry rose from the bed, slowly approached Draco and placed a hand on the trembling wizard’s arm. “Please tell me you didn’t participate in any of the thefts.”

“No! I haven’t committed any crimes!” Draco ground out. “Wait, I know what you are.” He scoffed and shook his head. “I went and tried to seduce a bloody Auror, didn’t I?” He backed away, searching for his robe.

Harry grabbed Draco’s arm and held onto him, his grip intensifying when Draco tried to break loose. “I can help you. I don’t want to see you in Azkaban, but I’ll need your help if you want to stay out of that hellhole.”

Draco blinked several times before answering, “I haven’t committed any of the thefts, if that’s what you want to know. The fact that I’m a Malfoy and my arse isn’t ripped to pieces should clue you in that I wasn’t enough to entice anyone.” He gave Harry a sad smile. “Can’t pinch someone’s money if they don’t want you in the first place.”

Harry nodded. “End recording,” he called to the room and there was a small pop. The Recordus Charm had ended. All Harry needed to do was send it with a Patronus to the Ministry. He focused on Draco. “Thank you for all your help. You’ll be called on to give testimony to the Wizengamot, just so you’re aware.”

Draco fetched his robe from the floor with a snort and put it on. “Good luck on that, Auror. In case you weren’t listening at all, I’ve got nowhere to go now. How are you going to find me to put me on the stand?”

Feeling the ripple of Polyjuice that was about to expire, Harry reached for the silver flask and gulped another mouthful, before grabbing his wand. “Expecto Patronum.” The bluish stag leapt from the end of the black stick and awaited Harry’s orders. “Tell the head Auror that Draco Malfoy is not to be arrested on any grounds. He is my undercover informant and, as such, is immune from prosecution. Enclosed is a replica of tonight’s proceedings. A warrant for the search and seizure of Scabior’s Strumpets may commence upon hearing of this transcription. I am taking responsibility for Draco Malfoy, and will depose him at my residence.”

Draco curled his lip in that familiar Malfoy sneer. “Is that so?”

With a wave of his wand, Harry sent his Patronus out into the night. “Yes. Do you have a problem with that?”

Sighing heavily, Draco sat in the lone chair. “Don’t have much of a choice, do I?” He shook his head. “Figures I would bollocks up the one and only trick I got. I mean, my life has been one colossal fuck up after another.”

Compassion welled in Harry’s chest. He laid his hand atop Draco’s head. “I could help you get back on your feet.” Damn. Where had that come from? Stupid Felix had to still be working.

Draco shoved his hand away. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you sound like Harry-bleeding-heart-Potter.” He stood and gathered his things. “I don’t need your help.”

Harry blocked the door before Draco could leave. “You probably shouldn’t go back to the brothel. It’s a safe bet the Aurors are already making arrests.” He didn’t examine how Draco’s comment about his acting like himself made him feel. “Besides, I need to depose you, remember?”

“Fine, but then I’m leaving.” Draco pulled on his robes with a shiver.

“If you want,” Harry said nonchalantly. He gathered his own items and they headed out the door.

Once outside, he wrapped his arms around Draco, ignoring the fact that it felt welcoming, and Apparated them to the pavement in front of his flat. “I do hope you’ll reconsider letting me help you.”

Draco grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, “A cold day in Hell before that happens,” but Harry couldn’t be sure. He dismantled his wards and let Draco go in first.

Well. Harry could tell Ginny had been by in his absence. Even in the dim light, he could tell all of her things had been removed.

Draco stumbled across an ottoman. “Fucking hell, need some light!”

“Sorry! Lumos.” Harry dropped his bag and found Draco sitting on an overstuffed chair, rubbing his foot. “I have some clothes that you can borrow for the time being. I’m sure you’re uncomfortable.”

“Won’t be here that long.”

Harry rolled his eyes and came over to squat down in front of Draco. “Look, I know how rough you’ve had it. Really I do. What I’m offering isn’t charity. You can pay me back when you’re able to.”

Tears misted Draco’s eyes for a brief moment, before he coughed and wiped them away. “Thanks,” he whispered. “Not sure how long I was going to survive out there.”

He didn’t know if the Felix was still coursing through his system, but Harry really felt the need to kiss Draco again. Cupping the blond’s cheek, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Draco’s in a soft, chaste kiss. He whimpered when Draco took control and snaked his tongue between Harry’s lips.

Harry dropped to his knees and moved closer, threading his fingers through Draco’s unwashed hair, his heart aching to undo some of the damage that had been done to the man. He was so preoccupied with the passionate snog, that he didn’t realise the Polyjuice potion had worn off. Having pried himself from Draco’s mouth, he sat back and began popping open the eyelets on the corset.

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Draco blinked. He rubbed his eyes and narrowed them. His jaw went slack. Sitting before him was none other than the wizard he had accused this man of being. He was doing nothing whatsoever to help Harry Potter undress him.

Obviously becoming frustrated with the last hook, Harry looked up to see Draco’s expression and frowned. “What? Am I bad at snogging?” He blushed furiously. “I mean, I haven’t had much practice snogging men. Well, none, really.”

Snapping his jaw shut, Draco smiled mischievously. “On the contrary, you’re a bloody phenomenal kisser.” He proved this by latching onto Harry’s mouth, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, and biting gently. “It’s just hard to breathe in this contraption. Get it off already.”

When Harry finally unhooked that last eyelet, he tossed the corset to the floor and stood, pulling Draco with him. “Bedroom,” he rasped and forced the blond backwards.

Draco didn’t know what was turning him on more: the fact that this was Harry Potter, or that said man didn’t realise his potion was no longer working. He thought about telling Harry, but decided to play the other wizard’s ‘game’ and keep quiet. It didn’t mean he wasn’t going to enjoy it—immensely.

He followed Potter down the hall to a closed door, which Harry opened and led him inside. The bedroom was nondescript, but Draco had the feeling there had been more in the room, like pictures or knickknacks that were missing. The bed was mussed, and the duvet on the floor.

Harry’s hands on his now bare chest brought him from his observations. He had to admit, for a bloke that had never before snogged a man, Potter was quite adept at seduction.

Draco sat on the bed with Harry between his thighs. “Have you ever done anything with a man?” He ran his hands up and down the back of Harry’s thighs, delighting in the tight muscles he could feel.

“No. Never really thought about it... until tonight,” Harry managed between pants, his fingers flexing on Draco’s shoulders. “But I’m willing to learn.”

Just what Draco wanted to hear. He unbuckled Harry’s belt and lowered the zip on his trousers. “I want a proper look at you.” He lowered the material until he snagged it on his foot and then shoved the trousers the rest of the way down to pool at Harry’s ankles. “Take them off.”

Harry stepped out of them and kicked them to the side. Hesitantly, he slipped his pants down to his thighs, then let them drop as well.

Draco was impressed. Though the foreskin covered some of the leaking tip, Potter was endowed. Not monstrously so, but he would definitely be a decent fuck. He reached for Harry’s cock but was halted by a hand on his wrist.

“Lie back,” Harry said. When Draco complied, Harry took one of the blond’s legs and began rolling the stocking down his thigh. “I couldn’t keep my eyes off your calves,” he confessed. When he reached the ankle, Harry pulled the hosiery off and repeated the gesture with the other stocking. Once Draco’s legs were bare, Harry began massaging his feet, stroking deep and long.

Oh, Hades... Draco was sure he was dreaming, because nothing in reality felt this good, this relaxing. He nearly lost his mind when Harry pressed kisses to the sole of his foot then his ankle, proceeding up his calve to his thigh. He wanted to tell Harry never to stop, but his tongue was thick, and he couldn’t stop staring at the play of muscles on Potter’s chest. The pectorals rippled every time Harry pressed his thumbs into the tense flesh, making his nipples perk.

Harry stopped for a moment after catching Draco’s stare. “See something you like?”

Draco smirked and nodded, licking his lips. His eyes widened, however, when Harry kissed his instep and then sucked one of his toes between his lips. “Oh, sweet Merlin!” The sensation was like nothing he had ever experienced. It felt disgusting and delicious at the same time.

“I take it you approve?” Harry asked with a smug grin.

Hard as a rock, Draco keened when Harry let his hand wander down Draco’s thigh to cup his erection through the material of the thong. He had to admit, for someone who wasn’t gay, Harry sure knew what he was doing. Maybe Weasley had never reacted this way with him. It was quite possible she just lay there and let Potter shag her, never doing anything to reciprocate. Sounded dreadfully boring, honestly. Any thoughts about Ginny Weasley went right out of his mind, however, the moment Harry licked the tip of Draco’s cock. Groaning, he looked down to see that Potter had spelled away that god-awful thong and was now covering his prick with that luscious mouth of his.

Only one thought was going through Draco’s mind at that point: I can't believe that Harry Potter is sucking my cock. He ran one hand through Harry's hair and cradled the back of his head into his palm, rubbing his chest and neck with his other hand. When Harry’s tongue delved into the weeping slit, Draco fisted his hands in Harry’s messy locks. “Too much! Stop!” he rasped. “I’m too close.” Harry eased off the sensitive shaft and knelt over Draco.

“Am I doing this right?”

Draco pulled Harry to lie atop him, flesh to heated flesh. “Considering I need you to stop, I’d say that means a resounding yes.” He nipped Harry’s sweaty jaw. “Are you sure you’ve never been with a man?”

“I think I’d remember something like that,” Harry quipped. “I just do what I think I would like.”

“Then I’ll do what I like,” Draco purred. He flipped them over so that he was lying on top of Harry. “Let see how you like it.” He pressed kisses all the way down Harry’s chest, letting his tongue linger around Harry’s navel, loving the groan from the dark wizard above him.

Travelling further, Draco nuzzled his nose in the wiry hairs surrounding Harry’s cock. He smirked just before he slipped the head of Harry’s prick between his lips and began a gentle suction. Draco figured Harry had only had blowjobs from women, so this would be a novel concept for him. He definitely knew he was on to something, when Harry started thrusting his hips and driving his shaft deep into Draco’s mouth.

Draco was about to begin swallowing, but Harry stopped him, mumbling that he was too close. He decided to switch tactics. Pressing his hands on the back of Harry’s thighs, Draco pushed Harry’s legs wide and settled comfortably in a position that would achieve maximum pleasure for Potter. Wandlessly casting the most basic of Cleansing Charms, Draco nearly laughed at Harry’s yelp of surprise, but soon focused on licking the wizard’s tight hole.

“What are you...” Harry was incoherent. He writhed as Draco plunged his tongue in and out of his arse. One particularly hard thrust made Harry go rigid. “Oh, God!”

Easing back, Draco crawled back up Harry’s body and kissed him, letting him taste himself on Draco’s mouth. “So dirty.” Apparently, it was the right thing to say, for Harry grabbed Draco’s arms and turned him over to their original position.

“Let me fuck you,” Harry pleaded, nipping at the flesh of Draco’s neck. “Tell me what to do.”

“Lube,” Draco rasped, rocking against Harry’s shaft. “Need lube.”

Harry leaned over and rifled through a bedside draw, where he found a small jar. “How much?”

Draco glanced down at Harry’s erection. “A lot.” He watched as Harry scooped a sizable amount onto his fingers and nodded. Slowly, trying not to clench, he felt Harry’s tenuous touches around his pucker. “Insert one finger to stretch me.”

Shaking, Harry prodded the rosette, causing Draco to hiss. Personally, Draco had never bottomed, so this was somewhat new to him as well. He relaxed and pushed against the intrusion. By the time Harry had three fingers scissoring inside him, Draco was mindless, as was evident by his next words. “If you’re going to fuck me, Potter, do it now before I change my mind.”

All Harry’s movements stilled. “What did you say?” he hissed.

Draco arched a brow and stared at Harry. “I said, fuck me, Potter.” He rolled his eyes, when Harry continued to not move. He debated on what to tell the wizard above him, but aching and hard, he finally decided to enjoy this as much as he possibly could. “The potion wore off not long after we arrived—right after our first kiss. I’ve known it was you for a while now.” Draco grasped Harry by the neck and kissed him fiercely. “So either shag me or let me go.”

The poor bloke looked so confused. He seemed like he’d been caught doing something he hadn’t been supposed to but had desperately wanted to do. Draco imagined Harry was weighing the pros and cons of a sexual relationship with Draco Malfoy, and while Draco himself thought he might be lacking, Harry apparently had other ideas.

“Are you sure?” Harry questioned, the head of his prick finally nudging Draco’s entrance.

Merlin, so close. “Yes, please!” Draco pleaded, canting his hips for greater ease.

Grabbing Draco’s hip with one hand, Harry lined up his erection and slid into Draco inch by inch, sweat beading his brow from the effort to go slow. The burning sensation that came with the invasion lessened significantly the more Harry thrust in and out, only to be replaced by pleasure. By the time Harry set up a rhythm, Draco was panting, his fists grasping handfuls of Potter’s hair, his attention solely on Harry’s luminescent green eyes. They shone with something unfamiliar, and Draco was inexplicably drawn to it; it promised safety and warmth, compassion and forgiveness. For a man in Draco’s position, that look could mean the difference between life and death.

He gasped the moment Harry hit his prostate. “Christ, yes! There!”

Unable to stop the thrust of his hips, Harry drove into Draco wildly, their flesh slapping, both moaning. Three more strokes, and Draco careened over the edge, dragging a screaming Harry with him. Warm, sticky fluid coated Draco’s stomach at the same time Harry filled his arse, and Draco revelled in the sensations that coursed through him, delighting in the aftershocks every time Harry pressed into him.

Both Harry and Draco stayed that way, trembling and panting for several moments before Harry pulled back. “That was definitely not how I planned to spend my evening,” he said on a sigh.

Draco frowned. “Do you regret it?”

Harry cupped Draco’s cheek and pressed soft kisses to his face. “Never. You gave me something I had been missing but couldn’t name.” He nuzzled Draco’s sweaty brow. “I tried to do what was expected of me, to marry someone I didn’t love.” Pulling back, he ran his finger through the come that was coating both their stomachs and rubbed the semen over Draco’s nipples and then sucked the digit between his lips. “Mmmh, essence of Draco.”

Draco’s eyes dilated at the sight of his come on Harry’s mouth. “You may have never done this before, Potter, but damn... you’re a natural at it.”

“Must be natural instinct,” Harry said with a smirk.

Draco sat up a little, his expression a mixture of shyness and hesitancy. “Thank you, Potter... for tonight. For everything.”

“I meant what I said earlier. I want you to stay until you get back on your feet.” Harry smiled softly at him. “Or longer.” He ran the pad of his thumb over Draco’s bottom lip. “I really want you to stay.”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with your case, does it?” Draco asked warily. What Potter was offering sounded a little too good to be true.

Harry shook his head and pulled Draco into his arms. “I knew I had to help when I saw your picture. Who knew you’d turn out to be the one helping me? This was supposed to only be for the case, but it turned into so much more,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the blond’s temple.

Laying his head on Harry’s shoulder, Draco blew out a heavy sigh—one of relief. “I can work with that.”

“Good. Now, I’m sticky and in desperate need of a shower.” Harry pulled away and slipped from the bed, holding out his hand to Draco. “Care to join me?”

Slipping his hand into Potter’s, Draco smirked and followed his new lover into the bathroom... and into a new chapter in his life.
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Scabior\'s Strumpets